The Mighty Quinns: Devin (9 page)

Picking up his pace, he started to jog. But no matter how fast he ran, he wasn't going to outrun the feelings pulsing through him. He was falling in love with Elodie Winchester. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

 

5

E
LODIE
HAD
BEEN
in town for just over a week, and though people seemed to recognize her, very few of the townsfolk greeted her on the street. In truth, she could count on one hand the people in Winchester who had been friendly to her—Dev, of course, and his mother. Joannie at the café now smiled when she stopped by for lunch. Officer Kyle seemed to accept her. And finally, Susanna Sylvestri, the glass artist who had replaced her windows. They'd had lunch the day before to talk about her work.

“Five friends,” Elodie murmured. “In one week.” Manhattan had been friendlier. But then, no one had known her there—or her family's reputation. Maybe she ought to consider five a good start. She'd simply have to change people's minds one person at a time—assuming she stayed, of course, which wasn't likely.

She had a nice life in Manhattan, a good job and a lovely group of friends. And though her apartment was the size of a closet, there were so many things she loved about the city.

And yet, when she was here, she felt like she had a purpose. She owed it to the house and to the town to see what she could do for them. Her plans might fail miserably, or she might be run out of town before she even got started, but she had to try.

She stopped in front of the office for the
Winchester Journal
. The paint was flaking off the front door and the blinds across the plate-glass window were faded, but the paper was still running. She'd read the latest issue over coffee at Zelda's just this morning.

Grabbing hold of the door, she pushed it open and stepped into the cool, dimly lit interior. Dust motes swirled through the shafts of sunshine coming through the blinds, and the scent of newsprint and fresh ink filled the air. It smelled exactly like the Sunday
New York Times
, Elodie mused.

“Can I help you?”

An elderly woman appeared from the back, wearing an ink-stained apron and gloves. She pulled off the gloves, shaking her head. “Damned press. One of these days, it's finally going to give up the ghost and I'm going to move to Florida and live with my sister. What can I do for you, dear?”

“I'm hoping you can help me—”

“Wait,” she said, frowning. “Are you Elodie Winchester?”

“Yes,” Elodie said. She held out her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you...”

“Oh, I'm Violet Feeney. Editor and publisher of the
Winchester Journal
, serving Winchester and the surrounding area for over one hundred and twenty years. I haven't been here for that long, but the paper has.”

“Well, you are exactly the person I'm looking for,” Elodie said. “I'm working on a project and I'm hoping to find local folk artists who'd be interested in promoting their work. I read that article you ran on the quilters club in your last issue, and I thought you might be able to give me information on other artists.”

“Artists?” she said. “I doubt those quilters consider themselves artists.”

“Oh, but they are,” Elodie said. “I believe they are.”

“We do keep a clip file,” she said. “Most papers index their content on a computer nowadays, but we're a little behind the times,” Violet said. “Still do everything the old-fashioned way.”

“Could I look at the clip file?” Elodie asked.

“Let me go fetch it for you,” Violet said.

Violet cleared a table for Elodie in the rear of the shop and set down a pile of file folders. “If I can get you anything else, just give me a shout.”

“Thank you.”

Elodie picked up the first folder and flipped through it, scribbling down notes as she went along. Her plan was taking shape, a chance to help the people of Winchester and to draw tourists to the charming town. It would be a small start, but Elodie wanted to use her expertise to help.

After combing through articles from the past ten years, she felt as though she had a good group of artists to approach. She'd start by inviting them to a small reception at the Winchester mansion, where she would explain her plans for a folk art gallery right there on the first floor of the house. And then she'd host an art fair, hopefully spanning two or three blocks of Wisteria Street, featuring artists from all over North Carolina. And finally, she would explore her idea of turning the old mill into artists' lofts, combining both studio space and living accommodations for talented artists.

It was an ambitious plan, but Elodie had heard of similar projects in other states where they'd transformed failing industrial towns without hope into thriving artists' communities. Many had transformed old factories and mills into condo complexes or shopping malls, creating an interesting mix of history and commerce that always seemed to draw a tourist crowd.

Elodie had plenty of resources to draw upon. She'd made a lot of important contacts managing the gallery in Manhattan, clients who had money to dole out to worthy causes. Renovating the mansion for her own purposes was out of the question, but if she turned it into a nonprofit gallery to showcase local folk art, then more sources of funding would be open to her.

And what better way to kick off the fund-raising campaign than an art fair? She could just imagine the streets filled with artists' tents, the booths stuffed with interesting work.

Elodie stood up and gathered her things. Violet returned to the room, a box in her arms. “Finished with your work?” she asked.

“I am.”

“I hope if you're planning something newsworthy, you'll come to me and let me put it in the paper.”

“You'll be one of the first to know,” Elodie said.

Violet held the box out to Elodie. “I thought you might like to look at this,” she said. “There's so much here, I packed it up so you could take it home.”

“What is it?”

“The history of your family here in Winchester,” Violet said. “It's interesting reading.” She chuckled. “You might want to start with your great-grandfather's feud with Chief Cassidy's great-grandfather. Back in the day, it turned this town inside out.”

“Dev Cassidy?”

“Yes,” Violet said.

“I've never heard anything about it,” she said.

“Oh my, there were years of lawsuits. The Winchesters were a powerful family even then, and this Lochlan Quinn was just a worker in the mill. He came up with some kind of invention with the looms at the mill. Your grandfather stole the idea and made millions on it.”

“When was this?”

“Long before you were born, my dear. Long before most people were born—there aren't many in town who still remember it. Your father was just a boy. It's all in there.”

“Thank you,” Elodie said.

“Just make sure you bring the clippings back when you're done,” Violet said.

“I will,” Elodie said. She picked up the box and followed Violet to the front door, then stepped outside into the midday heat. It was only then that she realized she'd walked downtown rather than taken her rental car. She wasn't prepared to carry the box all the way home. But the police station was only a block away. Maybe she could ask Dev to deliver the box to her that evening when they got together for dinner.

She turned toward the station, but as she was struggling with the heavy box, she heard the blast of a siren behind her. The sound startled her, and the box slipped from her hand and landed with a thud at her feet. Dev's police cruiser pulled up alongside her, and he smiled at her.

“Need some help?”

“You startled me,” she said. “Aren't there rules for using that siren?”

“Yes,” he said. “And trying to attract the attention of a beautiful woman is against the rules. Are you going to report me?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No. But only if you take this box and drive it to my house later for me. I walked downtown and it's too heavy to carry all the way home.”

Dev hopped out of the car and crossed the distance between them, then picked up the box. “I'll take both of you home,” he said. “Get in.”

He put the box in the backseat, then held open the passenger side door for her. Elodie got inside and waited for Dev to get behind the wheel. When he did, she turned to him. “What do you know about your grandfather Lochlan Quinn?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Your grandfather. His name was Lochlan Quinn.”

Dev shook his head. “I don't have a grandfather named Quinn. At least, not one that I've ever met. My mom doesn't talk about her family. My dad walked out on her when I was just a baby, and both her parents were gone by then, as well. That's all I know about my family.”

“Well, according to Violet from the newspaper office, your grandfather was a man named Quinn and at one time he worked for my grandfather.”

He leaned over and brushed a kiss across her lips. “That's all very interesting. It seems everyone in this town worked for your family.”

It was, Elodie thought. But she hesitated to tell him the bit about her grandfather allegedly stealing Lochlan Quinn's idea. To nearly everyone in town, the Winchesters were evil overloads, a power-hungry family that had made life miserable for everyone beneath them. Dev was the only friend she could truly depend upon. She didn't want to say anything that might change his mind.

“Do you have time for lunch?” Elodie asked. “We could stop by Zelda's and—”

“I can't,” Dev said. “I'm due to appear in court at two.”

“Jimmy?” she asked.

He nodded.

Dev had been working tirelessly all week to try to help the young man. Despite his efforts, Jimmy had been locked up in the county jail and given an impossibly high bail. Dev had been trying to get him out, but Jimmy was protecting his family, and his father and brother weren't talking.

“Is there anything I can do?” Elodie asked.

He sighed, then shook his head. “I wish I could get him to see what he's going to lose. He thinks he's being noble but he's just being stupid.” Dev cursed softly. “What I'd really like to do is forget all of this for just one evening. There's a picnic in the park tonight to benefit the fire department. I have to go and it would be a lot more fun if you'd come with me.”

“Would that be a good idea?” she asked. “I don't want to be the dark cloud that spoils everyone's fun.”

“You'll be with me,” he said. “No one will bother you.”

Elodie considered his invitation for a long moment, then shook her head. “I think I'll pass. I have a lot of work to do. But why don't you come over afterward and we'll have a late dinner.”

“When are you going to tell me about this project of yours?”

“When I get it all sorted out,” she said.

Dev pulled up in front of the mansion, then hopped out of the cruiser and circled around to help her. He retrieved the box of clippings and walked with her up to the porch.

“So, I'll be back later tonight,” he said.

Elodie smiled. “I'll see you then.”

“Stay out of trouble,” he warned.

“
You
stay out of trouble.”

He pulled her into his arms and gave her a long, lingering kiss, his tongue teasing at hers. Elodie was tempted to pull him inside for something more intimate, but she wanted to wait until they had more time.

As Elodie watched him jog back to the police cruiser, she smiled to herself. For the first time in a very long while, she was utterly and completely happy. And Elodie suspected that it had everything to do with Dev Cassidy.

* * *

“B-
SEVEN
. B-
SEVEN
.”
Dev reached into the bin and pulled another bingo ball out. He'd agreed to call the big-money game in the bingo tent, and it was quite a change of atmosphere from the raucous party outside.

Every summer, Winchester's volunteer fire department sponsored a barbecue, an all-day and night affair in the town park, attended by nearly all of the town's three thousand residents. There were rides and games for the kids, food and dancing for the adults, and plenty to drink.

Dev glanced at his watch. It was nearly 9:00 p.m. Any minute now, he'd be called upon to break up the first of the evening's fights. Between now and closing time at eleven, he'd mediate arguments over sports, family, romance and who owned the best hound dog in the county. Occasionally, he'd make an arrest if the fight turned physical, but he hoped that there'd be nothing serious tonight.

“I-seventeen,” he said. “I-seventeen. I've got a feeling there's a bingo coming up on this next number. Who's going to win this big pile of cash?”

He pulled another ball from the bin, but before he could read it, Eddie Grant from the grocery store hurried over. “Officer Kyle sent me in here to get you,” Eddie said. “There's a problem outside.”

“Can't he deal with it?” Dev asked.

“He thought you'd want to deal with it. It's Elodie Winchester.”

“What about her?”

“She's here. And she's causing a bit of a stir.”

Dev handed Eddie the next bingo ball. “Finish calling the game,” he said. He jumped off the riser and hurried outside, following the sounds of shouts and jeers. He found a small crowd gathered near the games, and he pushed through to find Elodie caught in the center of it.

“What the hell is going on here?” Dev demanded.

“She has a lot of nerve showing up here,” Jeb Baylor said.

“We don't want any Winchesters in this town,” Art Holman added.

Hank Pearce pushed through the crowd, his face red with anger. “She's just a reminder of everything her old man stole from us.”

“Go back to where you came from!” another man shouted.

“Get out of here. This isn't your town anymore,” said Jeb.

Dev placed himself in between the drunken crowd and Elodie, but she pushed him aside. “I don't need your help,” she murmured.